Nell and Jim knelt with hands clasped over Mr.Wells.The old missionary's voice was faint; Nell's responses were low, and Jim answered with deep and tender feeling.

Beside them stood Wingenund, a dark, magnificent figure.
"There! May God bless you!" murmured Mr.Wells, with a happy smile, closing the Bible.
"Nell, my wife!" whispered Jim, kissing her hand.
"Come!" broke in Wingenund's voice, deep, strong, like that of a bell.
Not one of them had observed the chief as he stood erect, motionless, poised like a stag scenting the air.

His dark eyes seemed to pierce the purple-golden forest, his keen ear seemed to drink in the singing of the birds and the gentle rustling of leaves.
Native to these haunts as were the wild creatures, they were no quicker than the Indian to feel the approach of foes.

The breeze had borne faint, suspicious sounds.
"Keep--the--Bible," said Mr.Wells, "remember--its--word." His hand closely clasped Nell's, and then suddenly loosened.

His pallid face was lighted by a meaning, tender smile which slowly faded--faded, and was gone.